How Hungry Would a Woman Have to Be?
by Mereidia
Summary: COMPLETED: How hungry would a woman have to be to accept my money in exchange for her services? Erik has a late-night encounter that will change his views on life forever. Rated for language and for adult topics...
1. Chapter One

_Author's Note: Salutations one and all. In this fanfic, you can be assured that I do not own Erik and Co. I credit Susan Kay for the scenario which this story is built upon, although this will definitely stray from any of the canon versions of Phantom. Erik will most likely be out of character by most of your standards, but regardless I think that the idea has some merit._

**_How Hungry Would a Woman Have to Be? – Chapter One  
  
_**The streets of Paris were cold and silent as a tall, masked figure made his way to his home. Pausing by one of the bridges on the Seine, he overheard a prostitute hail a passing soldier.

"Monsieur, I will take you to my room in exchange for a piece of bread."  
  
The man replied with a comment unheard by the masked man but presently the two made their way together off in the direction of the Rue de Grenelle.  
  
Watching the ice flow down the river, Erik stood for a while as he contemplated his fate and life. 

_'Just how hungry would a woman have to be to accept my money for her services?'  
_  
Even the thought depressed him; he would never be able to experience the pleasures of love no matter how brilliant, no matter how talented he was. He would never know the love of another human being or the feeling of another's embrace. He was seized with a desperate urge to get back to his lair as quickly as possible where he could content himself with his music; it was easier to forget rather than to face his troubles.

He began to walk briskly away from the Seine and through the streets of the St. Denis neighborhood of Paris. He began to encounter more prostitutes as he made his way through the streets and checked that his cowl still covered his head completely so that he would attract no extra attention. He absently took a short cut through one of the many dark alleys and had almost made his way to the main street on the other side when a sultry voice called out to him from the shadows.  
  
"Looking for some company, monsieur?"  
  
"You wouldn't have me even if I were looking." He muttered under his breath as he kept walking. Apparently, the woman overheard him as she stepped out of the shadows and into view. He stopped dead in his tracks, arrested by the sight of her. She had thick brown hair and dark eyes set in a porcelain face that was without the greasepaint and other cosmetics that whores used to attract their customers. Her figure was quite voluptuous in the cheap yet clean dress she was wearing and she held a thin shawl around her shoulders to ward off the freezing cold. She wasn't incredibly beautiful, but something about her struck him as extremely attractive. He watched mesmerized as she swayed her hips as she walked towards him. When she was close enough that he could smell her cheap perfume, she stopped and positioned herself so that he had a good view of her 'assets'.

"I wouldn't bet on that, monsieur. I take 'em all; all shapes and sizes alike. Like to consider myself a daughter of the Revolution with all the liberty and equality stuff; I'm even better with fraternity..."

She rolled out the last words in a low, seductive tone and licked her swollen, red lips. Erik was uncomfortably aware of the straining at the front of his trousers and took a few steps back from the woman in an attempt to remove himself from the temptation and to control the powerful desires coursing through him. As being a successful prostitute required the ability to read others and their actions, the woman noticed this movement and spread her arms to him in a gesture of supplication.

"Come on, dearie, I didn't mean no harm. You needn't be frightened of me. Don't you want to try even a small sample of the goods? My prices are reasonable and I think you'll find the services quite worth the money. Really, sir, I can be trusted to make your evening more pleasurable." She coaxed in a sincere, understanding voice.

"You cannot possibly understand, madame." He tried to infuse his voice with as much venom as he possibly could. However, she didn't even bat an eye at the tone of his voice and instead struck another pose as to get his attention. In a flippant tone, she replied "You can pay me to be understandin'. Really, it's only twenty francs for a quick one and forty for the night. For a gentleman like yourself, I might even be persuaded to go cheaper..."

"Madame, I am not like your other patrons." Again, he spoke coldly to her and she smirked up at him as she licked her lips again and answered "I can see that already. Not many of them have that voice of yours or wear such expensive cologne. I could even be persuaded to let you have a go for fifteen francs if I must." She absently undid the top lace to her bodice and again angled herself so that he would have a better view.

This woman's proximity was too much! He tried to will the pain and longing away and pushed away from her. He had walked five paces from her when a strong pair of arms grabbed him and held him against the slimy brick wall of the alley.  
  
"I believe the lady asked you a question! An' you dunna flirt wi' the goods unless you've a mind to pay for 'em!" came a male voice whose words were slurred and whose breath smelled of cheap wine.  
  
"Remove your hands from my person, monsieur." Erik responded with a dangerous undertone in his voice, his eyes glowing with their fury.  
  
"Let him be, Jacques!" The woman cried out as she put her arms on the man and tried to pull him off of Erik. "He ain't interested, there ain't no harm in that. Just let 'em be!"

"You asked him a question an' you deserve an answer. Besides, I'm in charge of your clients and if I say that you're to fuck someone....

At that moment, Erik moved to pull away when the hood fell from his head and his mask glinted in the moonlight. Whatever curses he was about to voice died on Jacques lips as he looked at the burning eyes in the mask before him.

"Holy mother of Jesus..." Jacques gasped as he released his hold on the other man. "There's no way you're bedding that bastard, Marceline. Get away from us, you monster!"

"A moment ago you were going to force her on me and now my money is not good enough?" Erik replied coldly as Jacques pulled the woman away.

"No way in Hell is my best girl fuckin' the likes o' you!"

"Jacques! For heaven's sake, please!" the woman cried. "You've made this bad enough as it is. Just go, I'll handle it." She stepped between the two men; her arms raised exposing her heaving chest in the tight bodice.

The filthy pimp shook his fist at Erik and growled "I ain't takin' his money, Marceline. An' if you know what's good for you..."

"If _you_ know what's good for you, you'll just let us be. You'd best see to Laurine, she's quite the novice even after two months. Don't worry 'bout me none; I manage myself well. I'll see you in the morning, Jacques." And she turned away from him with the flippant goodbye.

"Marceline..."

She spun around on her heel and glared at him. "Bon soir, Jacques." she said in a firm tone that allowed no argument.

"_Salope_." He hissed. "You had better take care of yourself beddin' freaks like that. I ain't helpin' you in the mornin' if you come back bleedin' and cryin'. It's your own damn fault."

He walked off into the shadows and the brunette turned back to Erik, who had watched this exchange with increasing self-loathing and disgust. Even with these people, these _animals_, he was still hated because of his face. Even among the poorest and most desperate, the most debauched and depraved, he still could never hope for companionship or even a shred of compassion. These thoughts sickened him to his core and he turned to leave when the whore turned to him and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. He shook it off briskly, but she took the opportunity to get his attention.

"Well, I apologize for that. Work for the man and he thinks he can own you body and mind. Don't heed his words none, he ain't got nearly the brains a dog's got and ain't familiar wi' the customs an' such. Now, monsieur, are you sure you really wouldn't be interested in company for tonight?"  
  
"You cannot possibly know what you ask." He whispered almost brokenly. He berated himself for even considering that this woman would be a willing partner; he was nearly forty and still believed in miracles! He was lost in his thoughts and completely taken aback by her next statement.  
  
"I know exactly what I ask. So, you're another man who has to hide in a mask so that I can't identify you. Ain't the first time I've had me a man like that. Must've bedded half the Chamber of Deputies in that manner! Trust me, dearie, I've had them in all shapes and sizes; it takes quite a bit to shock me. You ain't no different from the rest." She tossed her head and shrugged her shoulders as to indicate her indifference to the matter. Her chest rose with the movement and again brought Erik's attention down to her breasts. He had never examined a woman's form closely before and he was completely overwhelmed by this provocative woman's presence. The better half of his mind warned him to step away and with a great effort he did so, and infused his reply with as much coldness as he could muster in his state of distress.  
  
"I believe that is where you are mistaken, madame. I am _not_ the same as other men."  
  
She frowned with her perfect, red lips at the tone of his voice. "Call me 'Mademoiselle' or Marceline; 'Madame' is bad for business." She replied just as coldly. Her dark eyes searched his glowing ones closely and in a softer, more compassionate tone she asked "Honestly, what's the problem? I'll cater to your desires; it's what I do best. What'll you have me do? Is the dark good enough for you or do you prefer to blindfold me so I don't recognize you? I'm willin' to work both ways if you want. Oh, an' it costs extra if you want my hands bound, but it can be arranged..."  
  
He shook his head, still moving away from her. "You cannot be serious, mademoiselle..."

"Oh, I'm not a jokin' girl, monsieur. I'm a right honest lady, I am. I never lie and I never joke about business. If you're interested in my services, I'll do almost anything for the right price."

"You would honestly take my money without knowing who I am?" he asked incredulously.

With a wry smile, she answered in a very matter-of-fact tone. "If I knew every man I've ever serviced, I'd be acquainted with 'bout half the men on earth. And I never lie about that, either. I'm right honest, yes I am."

"You would be willing to...to...to _work_ with me even without knowing what is behind the mask?"

"Discretion is another valuable service that I provide at the right cost. I told you before that I don't care none. So long as you pay, you get a lay. So what'll it be? Fast, long, all-night?"

"I assume you've a room somewhere."

"It's part of my position to provide the location. Ain't the grandest salon in town, but it'll do. Downright quaint, I think. What'd you want?"

He was making arrangements without thinking; without considering his past or his future. His desire had taken over complete control, and he blindly let himself be directed by this whore of a woman.

"For an evening. How much for an evening?" he whispered.

"I said forty earlier and forty it is."

He paused, weighing the consequences briefly before deciding to risk his pride. At this point, there really was no choice; he had little pride left to lose.

"Alright."

"You don't get there until you show me that you can pay, monsieur. Always gotta remember professional courtesy."

She held out her hands and he dropped the gold in them without question. A smile broke out on her face, showing a set of white, even teeth that were quite an unusual sight in the slums of Paris.  
  
"You're quite new to this practice, ain't you?" she said with another smirk.  
  
He began to get flustered and again backed away from her. She reached out to him and took his arm gently with a smile lighting up her face.  
  
"Don't get all flustered. It doesn't bother me none. Just keep in mind that with most ladies, you settle for the price and leave it for them when you're done with the services. Never hand it straight to them, that dirties the money. It's a professional superstition, you know. Tainted money's said to be cursed. However," she said, sticking the hefty sum in her pocket, "we'll dispense with the formalities of the trade this evenin' and I'll show you the ropes at my place. Come along now..." and she held out her hand for his.  
  
He looked at her face in the dim lighting; her expression seemed sincere considering her profession and he honestly was led to believe that she intended to go through with this farce. "You're serious, aren't you? You haven't any idea who and what I am and you'd still be willing to..." As an answer, she took his death's hand and began leading him towards the street. 

"I said yes and I never lie or go back on my word. Now come along, it's freezing out here and I know the best way to warm us up."

_A/N: Howdy Doody…As I said earlier, I am well aware that this does not follow any Phantom canon nor is Erik in character. Please do not flame me for this! This is an idea that has been rolling around in my head for some time and I thought that I'd give it a go and see how it turned out. It will be relatively short; I'm expecting 3 or 4 chapters to finish this story if it is well received. I've rarely seen anything like this done on and so I am not quite sure what to expect from reviewers. Hopefully, you won't desire to Punjab me too much!_

_The grammatical and spelling errors in Marceline and Jacques' speech are intentional; consider them my pitiful attempt to show that they both are from the 'slums' and do not speak with proper grammar. Oh, and please don't worry. It will not be a Mary-Sue or an another-woman fic in the true sense…yes, Marceline is a woman and yes she is a prostitute and yes she and Erik have some mildly steamy scenes coming your way (I don't do in-depth sex scenes and they're not permitted on anyway), but that doesn't mean that Erik will fall for her instead of a certain idiotic brunette with some vocal talent…_

_For those following my other fic, 'The Patron of the Opera', you needn't fear that I'll abandon it for this piece. I've only got to work on Chapter 8 before posting as 9 and 10 have been written for some time. Once 8 is out of the way, you'll be well into the story with frequent updates until Chapter 11. _

_Thanks one and all for your support!_


	2. Chapter Two

_Author's Note: Salut! One hundred house points to those who guess which character in this fic does not belong to me! And another hundred points to those who can tell me which characters do belong to me. Another hundred points to those who can tell me where the idea of house points came from. Oh, and another hundred house points to those who can say who came up with the idea of house points..._

_**How Hungry Would a Woman Have to Be? – Chapter Two**_

The streets of Paris were cold and silent as the two figures walked in the direction of the streets of Les Halles. The shorter figure led the way, holding the hand of her companion and they soon found themselves in front of a dingy row of flats. The smell of human waste and refuse permeated the air and every visible surface that was not covered with ice was covered with a thick coat of grime. The woman let go of her companion's hand and using a key she fetched from a bag tied to her waist, she opened the door and led the way inside a dark and cramped staircase to the rooms on the top floor.

"I know it ain't much, but it'll do." she announced as they reached the last landing on the uneven staircase. The two walked into an unlit room that smelled of alcohol and tobacco.

The sound of a match being lit hissed through the silence as Marceline moved to light a lamp on a nearby table and Erik was finally able to observe the details of the room; it was bare and scantily furnished, but it appeared clean and well-maintained although the decor was of the poorest quality. A bed covered with a thin, patched quilt was against one wall, a dresser with a cracked porcelain washbasin stood in the opposite corner, and a lop-sided table near the door. Next to the lamp sat a small, intricate glass dish upon which was a detailed design in many bright colors; it was the only adornment in the entire room that did not serve a practical purpose.

"Well, monsieur, I suppose we'd best rid ourselves o' these wraps." Marceline stated as she hung her shawl on a hook near the door. She turned around only to find that Erik had not moved an inch since she had let go of his hand to light the lamp and again she reached out to him.

"Come along, monsieur. I will not bite...unless you ask me to..."

He drew away from her at that and pressed his back against the door; there was no room left for any further retreat. Marceline watched this with both some annoyance and some pity for her new patron. Apparently, the man was unused to the phrases used by her fellow sisters of the night. She concluded that he responded much better to coaxing rather than seduction.

Changing tactics, she held out both of her arms to him, and in the most welcoming tone she could muster asked him "Well, may I welcome you to my abode. I might not be a grand lady, but I ain't improper enough to let a guest stand in my doorway with his coat an' hat still on; please come on in an' make yourself at home."

Erik moved slowly from against the doorway and stood a few more feet into the tiny room. She divested him of his cloak, hat, and muffler and hung them with great care on the hooks next to her shawl; apparently, she had much practice in this.

"Well, now that that's been done the rest is up to you. It ain't unusual for me to offer a bit o' wine or brandy if you want, or would you rather enjoy yourself first?"

It took Erik a moment to realize what she had meant by enjoying himself and he felt himself blush crimson beneath the mask. Oddly enough, she hadn't been concerned at all with the piece of porcelain or even at what lay behind it. Perhaps she didn't mind it after all, so long as he could pay...

"I would...I would care for some brandy, if it is no trouble, mademoiselle."

"Ain't no trouble for me." she replied as she went to a trunk at the foot of the bed. She drew out a bottle and two glasses and poured a little bit of the amber liquid into each and offered him a glass. She seemed to sense the fact that he desperately needed his space and stepped away from him as she sipped at the brandy.

He twirled the alcohol in its glass but as he raised it to his lips, he realized that he would have to remove the mask in order to drink. He looked up suddenly and saw a reflection of himself; how had he not noticed that small mirror before? His optimism died right there as his fears claimed him; there was no way that he could ever bring himself to go along with this. Even in the dark, the woman would be able to feel his scars, the malformations, the roughness of his twisted lips, his complete and utter lack of a nose - there was no way he could do this. The wave of self-loathing and shame threatened to consume him and this change in his bearing was not unnoticed by Marceline.

She had watched him lift his brandy to the lips of his mask only to abort the motion without the grace of his other movements. Almost in a second, the proud and regal stance with which he carried himself crumbled and left a veritable shaking wreck of a man in its place. She put her own glass down on the table and put a gentle hand on his forearm.

"What's the matter, love? Are you alright wi' everything?" she asked quietly.

He pulled his arm away from her and began to walk toward the door, pulling his cloak and his hat off of their hooks. "This was a mistake. I am sorry to have wasted your time...please forgive me...I am so sorry..."

He would have left if she hadn't stepped in front of him, blocking his only exit. "Now what is the problem, dear? I told you that I'm an honest girl 'n if you're havin' second thoughts then I understand. But I ain't able to pay you back for it all. I might not get another customer tonight, you see."

"Keep the money, it does not concern me."

"I ain't chargin' you forty francs for a glass o' brandy that you haven't even drunk. I told you that I do business proper-like. I owe you somethin' back, even if you ain't takin' my services."

"The money is nothing to me. Please don't concern yourself with it; just forget you ever met me. I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"You ain't troubled me none at all. But you managed to trouble yourself a good deal. What's the matter, dearie? You're goin' about an' makin' me worried 'bout you. Why the change o' heart all of a sudden?"

"You don't understand, mademoiselle. You cannot possibly understand. Please forgive me and please do not concern yourself with me." He would have left right then and there, but her next question shocked him into delaying.

"You ain't a priest, are you?" The question was so outlandish, so unexpected that Erik had to turn around to question it.

"Why on earth would you think that?"

"You wouldn'tve been the first one I've had. I told you I've done it all and it ain't a matter to me. Would make sense why you're all uptight 'bout my services and why you hide all the time."

"I am _not_ a priest."

"Well, then what is the problem? Ain't I what you expected?"

"This has nothing to do with you, only with me."

"Love, please just relax a minute. Sit yourself down a minute; you're shakin' like a leaf!" she led him over to the bed and pushed him into a sitting position. She stood in front of him, giving him the necessary space for him to breathe and to stop the tremors in his hands.

"Now, dearie, please tell me the problem. I know you wouldn't have come here if you weren't interested in the first place and I ain't lettin' you run away from me without a good reason. You ain't got no reason to be afraid of me." she said in a compassionate tone.

Taking his hands gently in hers, she knelt in front of him and looked up into the glowing eyes behind the mask.

"Have you a wife, dearie? Is that the problem then?"

He pulled his hands roughly from hers and stood up from the bed. "No, I have no _wife_. There is no woman who would have me, much less marry me." Again he walked over to his cloak but the gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him again and in the same, understanding tone, she replied "I've already said that I would have you. I am yours for tonight; you can ask whatever you will of me."

Unbidden images of her nude form permeated his thoughts and he forced himself to ignore the urges that pulsated in his blood. She was the only woman who had ever expressed willingness, the only woman who had ever touched him without fear or recoiling in horror. She was the only woman who treated him as a man.

And he was too impotent to do anything about it.

She stepped in front of him again and looked up into his eyes. "Dearie, I can't make you stay, but I think that you want to. You're afraid of me, ain't you? Please don't be afraid of me..." The note of pleading in her tone was almost imperceptible.

He looked to her, unable to speak and watched as she moved her gaze from his eyes to the piece of porcelain that covered his face. His innards twisted as recognition flashed in her eyes and he felt like he was about to be sick when she smiled again and spoke.

"This is your problem, ain't it? You don't want to take it off with me...I told you before that it won't be an issue. Please give me a minute; I think I know something that will help..."

She turned behind her and shut off the lamp. The room was plunged into darkness and before Erik eyes could even focus, he found a slip of cloth in his hand and could feel her form next to his.

"Blindfold me if you want. Do whatever you need to make yourself more comfortable. Leave it on or take it off...just relax and try to be comfortable."

She guided his hands to her face and helped him adjust the cloth over her eyes. He moved automatically with her wishes and gently tied the ends of the fabric over her hair. He went to step away, but she held his hands in hers and guided them over the exposed flesh around her neck and chest. She allowed him some time to explore her neck and shoulders and smiled to herself as his hands never ventured below her collarbone. It was she who took one of his hands and gently led it to her breast and he let out a shocked gasp.

"Just relax, dearie. It ain't no fun unless you relax."

He traced the outline of her breasts through her dress with a bit of wonder, but then put his hands back up to her face and in her hair. These sensations were too much for him - he was uncomfortable with basic human contact and had no way to prepare himself for the waves of desire that were threatening to break his control. He could not bed her, but maybe...

He whispered to her in a small, uncertain voice. "Please forgive me...I am not accustomed to this...I've longed for this for years, but I cannot...I cannot force you to do this..."

"You ain't forcin' me to do anything, love."

"But I am...you don't know...you don't understand, mademoiselle..."

"Please, call me Marceline. Now's not the time to be formal with me."

"Marceline," her name tasted sweet on his tongue. "Please try to understand. I want to stay, but I am not like other men. I am not a normal man, Marceline. I cannot...force you to go through with this, but I would like to stay..."

"You've every right to stay if you want. But what will you have me do for you?"

He buried his hands in her hair and let the silky strands slip through his long, skeletal fingers. He breathed in her scent, her own feminine fragrance accented by the cheap oils that she had applied. He vaguely realized that this was the closest that he had ever been with a woman since his birth.

"Would it...may I touch you? I've never held a woman...I'm sorry, please forgive me..."

He moved to step away from her but she turned around and forced herself into his arms, molding herself against his body. He was overcome by the sensations as she stroked his back with her hands, her head resting trustingly on his chest.

In the end, he was forced to give into instinct. He tightened his arms around her and buried his masked face in the beautiful curls of her hair.

_A/N: Well, considering the amount of time it took 'Patron' to get half of the number of reviews that this first chapter got in less than two days, I suppose it would be appropriate to consider this fic 'well-received'. I have not changed the rating as I do not believe that it garners a 'R' rating at the moment, but considering what happens in the next chapter, I may change the rating. _

_I am glad that some of you find my Erik to be in-character; I have tried and that man is absolutely the most difficult character to write for in fiction. For those who have read any of 'Patron', you already know that I prefer to focus on other characters rather than just our favorite phantom. _

_SRP, Catherine, Suzey, Sue, gryffingirl, ErikaNapoleonica, and Rowin, thank you for your reviews and support. I hope that you enjoy this chapter as well as those to come._

_Schattenfreude, I have a bit of a favor to ask of you...is there any way you could possibly let me know what happened at the end of the Robert Englund movie? I had rented it years ago before I was the magic age of 17 and my mother managed to walk in at the scene with Carlotta in the punchbowl...she was less than amused and forced me to return the film without watching the rest. I've never had the chance to rent it again and have been dying to know how it ends! Thank you very much for your review; all comments are always appreciated and I am glad that you find the plot interesting and Marceline a 'non-Mary-Sue'. _

_Neshomeh, do your homework!! Thank you for your reviews for both this and 'Patron'; I was pleasantly surprised by the response to this fic especially after my first efforts with 'Patron'. It turns out that I have read your work in the past...I am extremely guilty of the crime of reading and not reviewing. This will sound rather strange, but I had actually been wondering about a certain Christmas fic featuring our favorite phantom and two days later, I received your reviews. Looking you up, I found that you were the author that I had been searching for as I had completely forgotten the title and had no clue of where to start looking. I adored your 'Premier Noel' piece and was rather disappointed to see that you only got eight reviews for it; as soon as I handle my school crap start looking for review # 9...but do not be offended as it will most likely be unsigned; I never sign them as a rule. Thanks again for your review!_

_And finally, my dear Olethros...thank you again for your support! With the exception of Neshomeh, you are the only one who bothered to read and review both of my fics and I cannot tell you how greatly I appreciate your comments and encouragement. 'Patron' will most likely not be updated for a few days due to school problems...the news I received last week completely destroyed all chances of graduating on time with my dual degrees and dual minors as I am unable to schedule the courses I need. To make matters worse, I've a P-chem exam this week and a lab presentation due (at least this presentation is in English rather than the French one I had to give recently!). Glad to see the different POV's worked in 'Patron'; I had hoped that they would and I hope you enjoy the plot twist. I'm gathering that you've figured out where I'm going with it and I hope that you enjoy the continuation of that story as well as this new chapter._


	3. Chapter Three

_Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates. This last week was utter Hell at school and honestly, if I weren't six classes from graduating with my degree, I'd quit. Anyway, Erik is not mine. If he were, he'd be supporting me in getting out of school rather than making appearances in my pitiful fanfictions..._

_**How Hungry Would a Woman Have to Be? – Chapter Three**_

The streets of Paris were cold and silent as the masked man made his way through the alleys. He paused by the Seine and studied the ice flows on the river to pass the time until the hour of their arranged meeting. She had said that nine would be the best time to find her without being seen and he took great precautions in order to secure their meetings. Even in the dark streets of Paris, the mask was still enough to cause hatred and fear in the souls of the populace and he had quickly concluded that it was best to just not be seen.

As he watched the ice flow by, he briefly recalled the first time that he had stood at this same spot and the events that had followed that evening.

* * *

_Two months earlier..._

She sighed into his chest as he drew her nearer and nearer, as if he was trying to envelop her into his soul. She guided him back towards the bed and deftly began to undo his waistcoat but his arms stiffened around her.

"Please...leave it...please..."

She stopped and put her hands on his chest, running them over the lapels of his suit and felt the taut muscles underneath. His breath began to come in quick gasps as she stroked the outline of his body and in response, he began to move his hands over her body. For a time they just stood there stroking each other, relishing the feelings of the other's caresses. She lay her head back on his chest and whispered to him "Love, what will you have me do for you?"

He was brought out of his sensory heaven by the soft question and again, the talons of fear and shame gripped his heart. He had never imagined that anything could be so wonderful, that anything could ever feel as perfect as this. He had often wondered how it would feel to be touched by another and finally, he had gotten his wish. But he could not and would not expose himself. Now that she was pressed softly in his arms, he could not bear having his dream taken away. She felt so right and made him feel complete. But she would undoubtedly leave if she saw his face and he knew that if he allowed her to disrobe him, he would not be able to control his black desires. _She must not see..._

"May I see you?" He asked in a timid voice. In response, she took his hands and led them to the buttons on her bodice. He slowly undid them and the laces of the shift underneath and held in a startled gasp as he gazed at her beauty. He had seen the scantily clad harem girls in Persia and the Gypsy women who provocatively danced around the campfires to entice their men, but never had he imagined that this is what was concealed by the dresses and veils. _This woman was beautiful..._

He wanted to press his face into the softness of her stomach, yearning to draw her close and embrace the whole of her, but he could not. He could not bring himself to do anything lest he soil this image of feminine perfection that stood before him.

And more than anything, he wanted to kiss her.

He contented himself by holding her, memorizing the softness of her skin and the warmth of her body. He committed every curve, every slope of her body to memory so that in the lonely days to come, he would have this night to sustain him.

The dawn had found the two entwined in the Marceline's small bed, Erik still fully clothed and Marceline covered in a thin cotton shift. No love-making had transpired in the wee hours of the morning, but both were contented with the simple pleasures that came from the comforting touches of another human being. Erik had awoken first and was shocked at finding the sleeping prostitute asleep in his arms but something twisted inside him when he realized that she slept comfortably and trustingly in his embrace. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he was accepted, that perhaps he was a man and not just the monster that he had been forced to become as he went through his life. Tears pricked at his eyes and he moved to wipe them away before they rolled down the mask. The movement had woken Marceline and she rolled over and smiled at him.

"Good mornin', love." she whispered as her dark eyes twinkled at him. He had asked her to take off the blindfold later in the evening so that she might be more comfortable as she slept.

"Marceline..." He reached out and stroked her cheek with his free hand and a flush of happiness flooded him as she leant trustingly into his caress. He could feel the tears coming now, the tears of the joy of being accepted as a man.

Seeing his golden eyes fill with water, Marceline wondered again why this man was so reserved yet so emotional. The night before had been the first night in nearly two months when she had not been forced to 'perform' and yet this man seemed to be completely undone by actions she normally would've considered to be a tender form of foreplay. It seemed as though he considered touching to be of great significance and she could almost find his timidity amusing as he would not touch any part of her unless she invited him to. He never even once tried to kiss her. Considering this, she realized the truth in his statement that he was unlike any of her other patrons.

She stared at him quietly until he began to feel uncomfortable next to her in the morning light. Again, her proximity was beginning to overwhelm him and he sat up in the bed and moved away from her.

"Thank you, Marceline..." he whispered. The intensity of the adoration and gratitude in his beautiful voice almost undid her as she was only beginning to realize the magnitude of his emotions. For one of the first times in her life, she was rendered speechless.

"I cannot thank you enough. You do not understand...cannot possibly fathom how much this meant to me..."

He stood up from the bed and began to shake out the wrinkles in his beautiful dress suit and smoothed the hairs of his wig. Watching him prepare to leave, Marceline called out to him from her reclining position in the bed.

"What's the hurry, love? There ain't no need to rush if you've the time to stay."

"I must go...I must not overstay my welcome. It is late already."

"Love, it's only 'bout seven in the mornin'. You've got a long way to go before overstayin' your welcome and can stay for some breakfast if you want."

"I must go." He repeated. "It is light out and I must not be seen."

The comment struck her like a physical blow and a wave of coldness flooded over her. She had been wrong; he was just like all of the others even if he didn't sleep with her. He was ashamed to be seen with her, unwilling to admit to even himself that he had been lonely enough to seek out a woman for hire. It was far from the first time that this had happened with a patron, but this time hurt more than the others. Perhaps it was her foolish idea that he had considered her to be more than an animal.

"Ah, we canna have you seen wi' the likes o' me now can we? Mustn't soil the reputation. I understan', dearie. Just close the door on the way out." She said coldly as she drew the worn quilt up to cover herself.

Instead of leaving like any other patron would have, Erik turned around with an expression of absolute and complete horror in his eyes. "You cannot believe that..." he whispered harshly. "Please tell me that you don't believe that..." He had never imagined that his natural inclination to hide from prying eyes might be misconstrued as his shame to have solicited her services. She looked at him coldly, the twinkle in her eyes gone and in two strides he crossed the room and fell to his knees at the side of the bed.

"Oh God, please don't think that! I could never be ashamed of you...you cannot understand. It's my fault...I cannot...I cannot be seen by anyone. I...I must hide from everyone, from the world you see...this has nothing to do with you, nothing!"

His eyes had filled with tears and he shook his head as he spoke, not daring to look her in the face. His hands had a death grip on the thin bed coverings and the knuckles were white as he continued to stammer.

"It is my fault...please forgive me! I never meant to make you think...I never meant to imply that I..."

A gentle hand covered his strained one and silently coaxed him to releasing his grip on the quilt. He looked at her then, his eyes filled with tears and two thin rivulets running down the porcelain mask. In her dark eyes, the coldness had been replaced by tenderness and she smiled at him as she wiped the tears on the mask away.

"It's alright, love. Just a misunderstandin' , that's all. You needn't trouble yourself anymore...but it is light out and if you have to leave then it's alright by me. I'll miss the company though..."

He looked at her in amazement as she let the implied invitation hang in the air. He had never even considered what he would do after leaving, had never contemplated whether or not he would want to return. He had taken it for granted that she would most likely not ask him back for a second time and he was uncertain as to whether or not he desired to meet with her a second time. But deep down inside, he knew he wanted her.

_He knew he needed her..._

"If I...Perhaps if I was in...If I happened to find you again, would you...would you be willing to...to spend the night with me?"

At this, she smiled broadly and took both of his hands in hers. "I'd be honored if you needed my services again. It's not often that I get to spend the night with a gentleman. I'm often along the Rue St. Honore at night, just ask for me."

* * *

He had asked for her the next time he had walked through those streets. And he had found her and hired her for the same evening every following week. Two months had passed by and although it was still the heart of winter, the days became longer and their time together became shorter. Even so, they held each other and comforted each other until the first rays of dawn appeared in the sky and then Erik would sneak away into the remnants of the night. He always paid more than she asked for her services despite her protests and had even brought her small tokens of his appreciation which he begged her to accept. 

He looked at his pocket watch and realized that he had waited longer than he expected and walked off in the direction of the Rue St. Honore. He kept to the shadows in the alleys, moving as silently as he possibly could and before long, he had rounded the bend to the alley where she normally solicited. He saw her standing and laughing next to another young prostitute as she waited and he came into view. By stepping into the dim light of the alley, he saw that there was also a man, presumably a patron, with them. A twinge of jealousy ripped at his heart but then she looked up and saw him and flashed her beautiful white smile in his direction. Turning to the man, she said with a smile "Well sir, it's a lovely evenin' and you'd best get 'round to enjoyin' it. Might I suggest Laurine here; she's available and is quite the catch. Have a good night."

She moved to walk away but the man grabbed her arm roughly and hissed at her "I want you. I asked for you and I want you, not your friend here. Jacques offered you and you I'll have."

She shrugged out of his hard embrace and, in a tone that brooked no argument, replied "I have already been engaged for tonight. You will have to come back tomorrow to have my services."

She walked away with the patron throwing curses behind her but as she approached Erik's motionless form, she smiled and held out her hands.

"Sorry 'bout that, love. That's what you get workin' wi' Jacques. Come along now..."

Erik looked down into her face and her dark eyes and felt something inside him turn over. Until now, he had ignored the fact that she really was a prostitute. In his mind, he had blocked that thought from his consciousness and began to lie to himself that she actually chose to come to him. It was easy enough to lie; he was desperate and she patiently and trustingly waited for him at the appointed hour each week. This was the first time that he had ever seen her with another patron and it hurt him to acknowledge that it was only the money that she was after.

_What did you expect, you fool? That she could ever come to care for you?_

However, he did follow her back to her home and allowed her to remove his wraps as he had at their first meeting. As she hung them with care on the hooks in her wall, he looked around the apartment and saw the traces of himself there. The room had been bare when he first visited, but now it was much more comfortable thanks to his gifts and his money. The thin quilt had been replaced by a warmer one in bright colors, next to the colored dish there was a small jade sculpture of an elephant that he had given her from the Orient. The shawl that she now hung next to his cloak was a warm yet delicate item that was smelled of her personal scent as well as the more flattering perfume that he had bought for her.

She stood back from him and looked up into his eyes and assumed her normal matter-of-fact tone when she announced "There's somethin' we need to discuss, love. I've got news that will concern you an' me an' I don't want you gettin' upset or angry wi' me, please..."

She led him over to the bed and sat down next to him and took his hands in hers. "Well, love, I'm right 'shamed o' myself now...but there ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it. Please forgive me...I'm sorry 'bout this..."

He felt cold at these remarks and stood and walked toward the door. She was telling him that she didn't want him anymore; that could be the only thing that would bring her to this level of discomfort.

"I am sorry to have troubled you. I will not return, you do not need to ask me to leave."

She shocked him by running from the bed and pushing him away from the door. "No, love! It ain't that for heaven's sake! Please...it's not you a' tall..."

Tears formed in her dark eyes and his instinct moved him to take her in his arms to comfort her. "What is it?" he asked. "What on earth could trouble you so much, Marceline?"

She shrugged out of his embrace and turned from him, not able to look him in the eyes.

"I'm with child..." The words hung in the cold air of the room. She took a breath and then continued "I just needed to tell you. There ain't a thing I can do to fix this and I wanted you to know why I wouldn't be able to see you for a time. I'm to be a mother in five months an' I canna be workin' like this if the babe's to be healthy. An' after it's born, I don't want it to have a whore for its mama. I won't be back on the Rue St. Honore."

She turned around and looked at him with tears in her eyes. His eyes were empty behind the expressionless mask and she took a deep breath and pushed on. "But I wanted to talk to you 'bout this. You're the only patron I've got who ain't been a bastard to me. The only man who treated me like I was somethin'. You're the best man I've ever met and you're also the loneliest of 'em all. What I'm tryin' to say is that after the child is born, I'd still like to see you sometimes. An' I wouldn't charge a sou...I'm lonely too, you see..."

She started to cry and he automatically wrapped his arms around her and held her. "Oh, Marceline..." he whispered.

Whatever he was about to say was lost in the moment as the door to the room burst open and Jacques stood in the doorway, drunk and horribly angry. Marceline moved from Erik's arms to confront him and Jacques walked over to her and struck her hard across her face. She crumpled to the floor and protected her abdomen as he kicked her in her side.

"What're you doin' with this freak?" he spat, his fat face purple with anger. "When I tell you you're to fuck a man, you do it! An' I told you you weren't to bed this monster!"

Erik moved like an angel of death as he struck out at Jacques to protect Marceline. Jacques was able to connect one punch to Erik's face, but Erik then grabbed the man by his throat and closed his hand as the air wheezed from his victim. He choked the life out of the man and when the corpse lay limply in his vice-like grip, he dropped the body to the ground. He turned to Marceline only to find her staring at him with absolute horror in her eyes.

His porcelain mask, shattered by the blow, lay in pieces at his feet.

_A/N: Well, isn't that a nice little cliffhanger for all? It isn't the end and there's one more chapter left which will be short but will wrap up everything. _

_Many thanks to Nessarose, SRP, North Angel, Sue Raven for your reviews. I hope that this chapter pleases you as well as the last one did!_

_Rowin, thanks for your review and thanks for the synopsis of the movie! I have wondered for ages exactly what happened and while strange, the end does sound intriguing if disappointing by a Phan's perspective. Thanks again!_

_Lil Shady, thank you again for your support in both 'Patron' and 'Hungry'. Regarding your remarks about being a medium to get Erik in character, I must say that I am the most cynical and realistic person I know; needless to say, I am not a medium. And also reading the original French version of 'Phantom', I don't think that even Leroux got our Erik in character...or at least not the type of character we want him to be! I'm sorry, but some of his habits were a bit...um...overly eccentric, to put it gently! Regarding your 'Erik-on-the-shoulder', I used to have an 'Erik-in-my-basement', but when I moved to my apartment I had to leave him at home. Nobody else in my family is a phan and so he's lonely and has taken to swinging our dining room chandelier to get attention...okay, so the foundations of our house are settling but a swinging Erik is more fun than the passage of time, wouldn't you say?_

_Gryffingirl and Suzey, both of you had mentioned the British Cockney accent...yeah, I know all about it. I do speak French and lived in France for a short time, but I have been unable to write with a 'slummy' French accent. Actually, all of my efforts to put French accents into English turn out to be a horrible mix of French, Italian, German, and some Russian thrown together to make some indiscernible nonsense that is difficult to read and impossible to understand. So I stuck with what I know. In this case, it happened to be British cockney...but Marceline is French, is from Paris, and just so happens to have this little flaw in that she is a heavily British accented Parisian...there's no mystery here other than my own incompetence with writing in accents. Thank you both for your reviews and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!_

_ErikaNapoleonica, in the words of the immortal Severus Snape, you are an insufferable know-it-all. So enjoy the 400 house points to the houses of Slytherin and Ravenclaw if you are of those houses. However, like Severus, I'll deduct 400 points from Gryffindor, if that's your house of choice, and 800 points from Hufflepuff...the only thing worse than a Gryffindor is a Hufflepuff. Regardless of your house affiliation, thanks for your reviews and support. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!!_

_Olethros, again I must offer you my thanks. But why on earth are you worried? Why are your innards twisting about? Hopefully it's not due to disgust on the fiction at hand! Regardless of the reason, I've heard that such a state cannot possibly be healthy! I hope that this chapter meets your expectations and thank you again for your words of encouragement!_


	4. Chapter Four

_Author's Note: By this point, I should think it is obvious who here is mine and who isn't…I do however hope that you enjoy this ending!_

_**How Hungry Would a Woman Have to Be? – Chapter Four**_

The streets of Paris were cold and silent as a chilling wind swept between the crumbling buildings of the St. Denis district. Blowing through the cracks in the window, the wind entered a tiny apartment and circled two people who remained as motionless as granite statues. One stood towering over the other, his golden eyes blazing with hatred and anger. A mangled corpse lay at his feet where a small, delicate woman rested on her knees. Her dark eyes were wide with horror as she stared up at his face.

"Good God..." came a gasp from the woman's red lips and she involuntarily inched away from him, backing herself against the wall. Her hand had flown to her throat and she cowered on the floor in his dark shadow. "You killed him..." she whispered disbelievingly.

"I'm sorry, Marceline…he meant to hurt you...you're safe now..." Erik whispered as he stretched his hand out toward her to help her off the floor. She firmly pressed her back against the wall and shook her head wildly, repeating over and over "You killed him...you killed him..."

Erik stepped over to her and took her by the shoulders and gently shook her to bring her back to sanity. She looked at him again and, as he had done countless times in the prior months, he gently stroked the smooth skin of her cheek which had already started to bruise from Jacques forceful blow. To his horror, she recoiled and pushed herself out of his grasp as she buried her face in her hands. She began to sob then, her entire body shaking with the deep rattling gasps and Erik stood silently before her, unable to understand the reason for her withdrawal.

He turned back to the body of her employer and moved to cover the distorted face when he caught sight of something sparkling in the dim lamplight. Looking down, he saw the remnants of his porcelain mask lying in a shattered heap near the body of his victim. He froze with horror as he realized the true reason for Marceline's strange actions. Cautiously, disbelievingly, he raised his hand to his face, praying to all deities that it wasn't true, that his mask was still fastened. His gloved fingers brushed against the bare rough skin of his cheek and he gave a low cry of dismay; he was uncovered and she had seen him.

She had seen...she had seen _it _and now she hated him.

He buried his face in his hands and tried desperately to control the waves of shame and self-loathing that crashed through him like a hurricane hitting the seaside. All he wanted to do was to run; he yearned to run away from the horror and disgust that he would undoubtedly see reflected in her lovely eyes where compassion and trust had once shown. He wished that the uneven floorboards would swallow him up so that he did not have to face her. He lacked the courage to face her.

A movement near his feet startled him and he took his hands away from his face to find Marceline examining the body. Tears ran in streams down her face and her breathing was still uneven and strained as she ran her hands over the discolored face of Jacques and closed his wide, dead eyes. She took a handkerchief from her pockets and covered his face. Not looking at Erik, she whispered "What do we do now with him? The gendarmes won't give a damn 'bout self-defense an' they'll kill me for this, baby or not..."

Keeping his face averted, he answered in the lowest and calmest tone he could manage under the circumstances. "You've no need to worry; I will arrange everything. You will never be troubled by me again."

Silently he crossed the room and donned his coat and muffler, taking extra pains to conceal his face now that his mask was destroyed. He returned to where Marceline still knelt by the corpse and, averting his face, moved to pick up the dead man in his arms. He was stopped mid-movement by a tentative hand placed on his forearm. He turned toward her instinctively and saw her visibly force herself to regain her composure in the view of his dead face.

"Love...I'm sorry...I didn'a think, I didn'a know what to expect..."

"Do not trouble yourself." He said stiffly. "It is none of your concern. Attend to your cheek and get some rest; you must not harm yourself. I will handle all that needs to be dealt with here."

He moved again to take the corpse but she placed both of her hands on his arm and peered at him closely in the dim lighting. He averted his face from her gaze, undone by the close scrutiny to his greatest shame and shrugged off her touch. However, she put a firm hand on the one cheek of his distorted visage and turned him so that she could see him clearly.

"You've been hurt, love. Let me see to that..."

Her gentle touch burned his skin which was completely unused to any contact other than the cool caress of white porcelain. He stood in absolute shock as she undid his muffler and stared at him without any trace of horror or disgust in her eyes. She turned away to get her wash basin and some cloths to clean the gashes from the broken glass.

Taking advantage of his shocked state as she had months before, she pushed him down into a seated position on her bed and rushed over to lock the door. After securing the bolts, she flung open her trunk and retrieved the bottle of brandy. Pouring him a glass and forcing it in his shocked hands, she began to wash the blood from his mangled face.

Tending to him with the deft hands of a surgeon, she cleaned and disinfected the cuts before she began to wind bandages around his face. Only when she touched the hairline of his wig did she stop and begin to speak.

"Dearie, is this...this ain't your hair..."

He looked to her questioning face and searched for the familiar signs of repulsion and disgust; he didn't find them.

"Dearie, do you want me to drape the bandages across the wig? I might crush it and the bandages will stay longer if they're over your real hair..."

He swallowed his shame at having her soft hands touching his face and turned away from her, not willing to have her see more of his hideousness.

"I am fine" he answered stiffly. "And I can attend to these wounds myself, madame. You need not exert yourself for my sake."

Moving to rise from the bed, he found himself impeded by her two hands which felt like iron pressing down on his shoulder blades. She leaned forward, so close that her nose would've brushed against his had he been blessed with one, and hissed in an angry tone.

"Marceline. My name is Marceline. You are to call me Marceline, just as you have for the last months. This doesn't change anything; I don't care what you look like. You just surprised me, that's all. And I'd think that you should be a little more understanding about that after all. You shouldn't have hidden this from me for this long; it isn't anything to be ashamed about. From the looks of things, it is hardly as if you could help it; just as I could not help becoming what I am in order to survive. This life is not fair, but not everybody in this world is hateful. Not everybody is ugly. You have beauty in your soul, whether you want to admit it or not and I'll be damned if I let you be ashamed and afraid in front of me for something as stupid as your face. Now, I am going to remove this wig of yours so that I can wind the bandages around something that will stay still and you for one are going to let me do it. Am I understood?"

Her voice had changed in the course of this speech and reminded Erik more of his mother than of a lowly prostitute. He hung his head as tears of shame flooded his eyes and he felt her lift the artificial covering from his head. The expected gasp of disgust did not come and she continued to wind the bandages around his head, heedless of the malformations that she encountered.

Fastening the last of the cotton strips, Marceline's hands hesitated before coming to rest in his thin hair. The soft, gentle touch finally undid him and the tears fell from his eyes, his shoulders shaking in an effort to keep his sobs under control. She knelt down in front of him and took him in her arms. She held him tighter than she had ever had before and this time, she whispered gentle words of comfort into his ear as she stroked the thinning hair on the back of his head. With his poor head in her hands, she laid her forehead lightly against his and felt rather than heard the low moan that escaped from his lips.

Neither was aware of the time passing as they held this pose and it was not until a drunken reveler's song sounded from the street below that either of them stirred from their embrace. Erik lifted his head sharply and pulled himself quickly from Marceline's grasp as she struggled to stand, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. The two looked at each other, Erik's golden eyes still wide with disbelief from her open acceptance of his deformity.

_She may have been a whore, but at least she cared. She was moved enough by her heart to comfort him. She was the only person in his life who had ever tried to do so…_

Reluctantly, they broke their gaze and turned to examine the cold corpse that still lay on the floor. Wordlessly, Marceline moved to fetch Erik's muffler and wig. Laying the artificial covering over the bandages, she then took the thick muffler and wrapped it gently about his face. He moved to take the body but she reached out to him and asked softly "I will never see you again, will I, dearie?"

He turned his head toward her and fixed her with a gaze that said it all without words. There was no need to question; they both knew that he would never be back. He bent down, took Jacques in his arms, and headed toward the door. Again he felt her touch on his arm and he looked to her one last time, locking her image in his mind forever.

"Dearie, please remember what I said. I meant it, surely I did. I don't even know your name but I know your soul and it is beautiful even if your face isn't. My door will always be open to you – just come and you will always be welcome. Remember that, love…"

Tears came unbidden to his golden eyes yet he walked through the door that she held open for him. He stopped suddenly at the top step of the staircase and without looking at her, whispered in his melodious voice "Be sure to take great care of yourself and the little one…thank you, Marceline…thank you…" He descended the staircase without another word and disappeared into the night.

The next day, Marceline tentatively opened the door to her flat, fully expecting armed gendarmes to be waiting on the other side of the battered wood. To her surprise, she found a small, mousy gentleman dressed in a cheap suit. He was startled when she opened the door and, after removing his cap blustered through a brief introduction and explanation. Refusing to answer any of her questions, he handed her a thick white envelope and with a sad smile turned to leave. She detained him.

"For God's sake – at least tell me his name!" she shouted, her voice echoing down the staircase and disturbing all occupants in the building. He looked back to her and seemed to study her for a moment before responding.

"Erik. His name is Erik, mademoiselle." At this, he descended the stairs and walked into the street, leaving Marceline gripping the banister for support as she held the envelope, filled with thousand franc notes, in her nerveless hand.

* * *

_1879_

The streets of Paris were cold and silent as a masked figure made his way from the home of Nadir Khan. After spending the evening being insulted and reprimanded for his current activities as the Opera Ghost, Erik longed for the sweet kiss of his morphine that would allow him to escape briefly from his guilt. However, he was reluctant to allow himself to embrace that familiar drugged haze just yet; he needed to walk off his frustrations first before retreating to his home. He walked aimlessly through the streets and alleys and remembered a time, not very long ago, when he had met one kindred spirit in these shadows. His meanderings took him from the respectable estates on the Rue de Rivoli to the slums in St. Denis and then to the Bastille neighborhood. Walking through the darkened streets, he was surprised to hear a child's voice exclaiming from the shadows "Papa? Papa, is that you?"

He looked down to the small face and was grateful that his own was hidden by his muffler and whispered "No, dear one. I am not your father." He retreated to the shadows and watched this child, wanting to see if the father would indeed return for the poor thing. In the slums, abandoned orphans were not uncommon, but in this district it was a rather strange occurrence. Then, from one of the lighted homes on the rue, a woman's voice yelled into the street. "What on earth are you doing out there?"

A door flew open and the street was partially illuminated by the lights inside as a woman ran out into the street and stood before the child. "For heaven's sake, what are you doin' out here? I've had enough of your disappearing acts! You had me worried sick, dearie."

At that term of endearment, Erik whipped around to stare at her in the darkness. It was the same voice, the same tone, the same inflection that he had heard before. He unconsciously walked several steps in her direction before another voice at the other end of the street startled him back into the shadows.

"Ah, what a treat! Me Marceline an' Erik awaitin' my arrival! Dinna tell me that the other little ones 'ave forgotten me?"

Erik watched in complete shock as the three people embraced each other and as the sounds of their joyous reuniting echoed down the empty street. Standing only a few feet from where he stood in the shadows was Marceline, the only woman who had ever found it within herself to look beyond the mask to see the man inside. Even if money had been her primary goal at the time, she had at least treated him well and had not run screaming from the sight of his dead face. Instead she had comforted him and he now found himself longing for those warm, soft arms more than ever.

Her last words to him echoed in his mind. _"My door will always be open to you…remember that, love…"_ Eight years later and he still remembered, he remembered so well and could barely restrain himself from running out to her in the street and throwing himself at her skirts so that once again he might be held in her welcoming embrace. Instead, his iron mantle of control held him in the shadows until he saw her reenter her home while, to his surprise, the man and boy stayed outside and sat on the doorstep. The man began to whisper to the boy and Erik moved closer to them so that he might hear their conversation.

"Well, Erik, you know that tomorrow you're off to school and I wanted to talk to you without your mother or sisters listening in. I had hoped that our ship would come to port in time for me to talk with you and I was lucky that we had fair sailing on the passage from England."

"What did you need to talk to me about, Papa?"

"About your schoolin'. You know that we haven't much money in our family, but you are going off to the military academy in order to secure your career. It's one of the finest institutions and it costs a great deal for such an education. I wanted you to know that so that you had an 'preciation for this privilege so that you'd respect and mind your professors. You're the first boy in me family ever to attend the academy an' it ain't due to me a'tall."

"But, Papa…what on earth do you mean?"

"I might make enough as a sailor to keep bread on the table, but there's no way I could've paid the cost. But your mama an' I want you to have the best education an' so we did our best to provide it. You're a lucky boy to have your mama, Erik." The man put his arm around the boy's thin shoulders and leaned in to whisper in an even lower voice.

"You remember that I'm not your real papa but that doesn't mean that I don't love you as me own. Before I married her, your mama had to work very hard to support the two o' you but even though her life was hard, she loved you all the more. An' she made some money by the by and laid it away. It's that money you'll be usin' to pay the academy and that your sisters will get for their educations too. It's all thanks to your mama, so don't you go forgetting that fact. I might support our family now, but your mama is the reason why we get by; she's a great woman even if she had to do some lowly things in the past. Keep that in mind, boy. She loves you dearly an' you wouldn'a had a chance at the academy if it hadn't been for her teachin' you. I canna read worth a lick, but your mama's an educated lady even if she be poor. So when you're a great soldier and I'm gone, remember your mama an' take care of her like she done for you."

"I'll always love Mama, sir. I promise I'll be a good student at the academy and the best soldier you've ever seen, to make you and mama proud."

"I'm already proud, boy. I love you as my own son and I'm as pleased as pie that you have such a career ahead of you. You were made for great things…"

The door opened again and two little girls in nightgowns ran out into the street and threw themselves at their father, their thick brown hair obscuring his laughing face from Erik's view.

"I see these two haven't slept yet! Still full o' energy even this late…" He laughed as he stood and carried the two toddlers into the house, the boy following. Before the door closed again, Erik heard the warm sound of Marceline's laughter flow into the street. He moved slowly to the lighted window of their home and looked inside the ice covered glass to see the happy family gathered around the hearth. He ached with longing as he watched them move about inside, content in their lives and blissfully unaware of the tortured soul outside. He watched as Marceline moved between her husband and children and studied her. She had aged, it had been eight years after all since he had seen her last, but her face seemed more radiant now. It was as if something inside her had been lit so that she glowed with a warmth and brilliance that brightened up the lives of those around her.

Erik studied the family from afar, a specter lost in the cold, frozen night. He saw the loving glances passed from husband to wife as they watched over their three children and a tear made its way from his eye to the surface of his porcelain mask as he mourned a peace and happiness that he could never possess. His loneliness threatened to consume him and he restrained himself from crying out in the night. Instead, he looked back toward Marceline as she gently scolded her son for teasing his younger sister.

"Oh now, Erik, you must learn to mind yourself if you're to be an officer…"

Erik watched her lips as she said this and a sudden realization shocked him into disbelief. She had named her son Erik…

He vaguely remembered Jules' mention of their meeting when he delivered the sum of three months salary to her in fine parchment envelope and knew that Jules, in a moment of weakness, had capitulated and told her his name. Realization dawned on him and he looked back to the happy family and studied them from a new point of view. She had named her son after himself, he concluded, and had later married the hardworking sailor who was willing to raise the boy as his own. Then two lovely daughters had followed and formed the content family that moved before him.

The knowledge that Marceline had cared enough to name her child for him was very significant. It seemed to turn something inside him so that for a moment, he forgot about his disfigurement and the bounds that it placed on his life. By naming her son after himself, Marceline had ascertained that Erik would not be forgotten. And he saw now that his gift to her, the paltry gift of sixty thousand francs, had given her a chance to live a new life. Her children were provided for; she never needed to sell herself again. She was able to win a loving husband who cared for her despite her tainted past and through hard work and effort, had managed to create a life for herself out of the mess that she had been given.

Warmed by these thoughts, Erik turned away from the happy family scene inside and walked down the street in the direction of the Opera. Somehow, the night did not seem as cold and unforgiving as before and the guilt that he carried with him seemed lighter. The rest of the world may not have known, but at least Erik had learned that his life had served some purpose. He had made a difference, had changed someone's life for the better and this knowledge made his sorrows somewhat easier to bear.

He never did take his morphine that evening, but rather played some of his favorite compositions until he was weary enough to fall into a sleep undisturbed by nightmares.

The streets of Paris were cold and silent as the moon bathed the city with its serene light.

_A/N: Well, that is the end to my best received piece that I've posted so far. It is also my first completed phic, the Visitor doesn't count since it was a one shot written in a vodka-induced haze... :-D_

_I hope that for all of you who who have waited so patiently for this ending are satisfied. God knows, this had one hell of a time trying to be posted. I had half of it written when I last posted in October and had finished it by Halloween, but my computer crashed and I lost it. So, I rewrote it and saved it onto my FTP account...no luck with that move since I made a major mistake with that and deleted the file unintentionally. Needless to say, I got to do it all over again and so I hope that I remembered everything that I wanted to add._

_Thanks to all who have reviewed, I greatly appreciate your feedback. A Happy Belated New Year's and MLK Holiday (for Americans only, I believe...) to you all!_


End file.
